*MILD LANGUAGE WARNING*
“Morning, Bob. Do you want coffee or tea today?” I say, as I walk by the gurgling aquarium. Bob is my fish and he can get pretty cranky in the morning. “What? You’re tired of tea and coffee?”
“Of course I am,” Bob replies. “It’s all we ever drink in the morning. I’m a fish, for effsakes, and caffeine is hard on our stomachs. Didn’t you read the manual when you bought me?”
“Oooh. The manual. Yep. I’m not sure if morning routines were mixed in with How to Communicate with your Nasty Fish or Why Does My Fish Talk? Refresh my memory.” I try to keep a straigh face but fail miserably. I’ve come to terms with my talking fish, Bob, and instead of being afraid, I find it kind of amusing.
“It’s in the food section, dipsh*t. You know, were it tells you what kind of pellets and crap I like and highlights what NOT to feed me.” Bob swims around his tank, angrily, the water swirls around his giant purple body. He’s pretty magnificent looking, and aside from having to upgrade his tank from a sixty to two hundred and fifty gallons, I’m enjoying his company. Oh, yeah, and he talks too much. There’s that, too.
“Well, just tell me what you want. I have to get ready for work and time is a wasting, my friend.” I quickly slurp down some soggy cereal, soggy because I’ve been distracted by Bob the Fish, and then rinse out my bowl.
“Give me some cheerios. I hate fish pellets. They taste like sh*t. Who markets that crap, anyway?”
“Dunno. Some CEO at a pet centre, no doubt. I’m kind of thinking they don’t sample their products. Not personally, anyway. Hey! Maybe you could apply for the job,” I say, kind of in a shrill voice. “I’m willing to bet they don’t have fish that can give them honest feedback like you would.”
“Sure. Why not. I hate this dingy old tank, anyway.” His already-huge-frown gets even huger–not proper English? Don’t care. Huger is as huger does–. He always looks so mad.
“Hold on now. You don’t want to MOVE, do you?” I’m a little shocked at his response. I spent a lot of stinking money on his new tank.
“If it gets me away from you, yes. Where do I sign?”
“You’re a rotten fish, Bob. You know that? We’ll talk about this later when I’m back from work. You’re a miserable little creature in the morning.” I stomp away, forgetting to give Bob his cheerios and then I have to slink back into the kitchen to feed him, defeated. “Sorry, Bob. Forgot to give you these,” I say, dumping the cheerios in his tank.
“Have a horrible day,” Bob replies, and then swims behind his rock.
“Thanks, you too.” We’ll settle this later. For now, I’m off to work. Where things are normal.
© 2016, Anisa Claire. All rights reserved.
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